


The Sixth Day

by Jennifer-Oksana (JenniferOksana)



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Begging, Car Sex, Drinking, Enemy Lovers, F/M, Het, Power Dynamics, Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-22 06:26:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6068647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenniferOksana/pseuds/Jennifer-Oksana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What may or may not be an account of the week after the first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sixth Day

 

Wes found her knickers rather ludicrously perched atop the coat rack, but he had to admit at the time, they'd been trying to discover just how naked they could get before he simply knocked her to the floor and fucked her. It had really been a surprise that he'd gotten her to the bed, but her damned skirt had been impossible to arrange properly and they'd ended up there amidst the racket of "oh god oh god oh god right there fuck yes fuck me HARD oh god like that oh god you're so good!" and enough of that had overwhelmed the last remaining rational synapses in Wesley's head.

She'd wanted him to fuck her roughly, and she'd gotten what she wanted, rather like a small child demanding a toy and getting six. And there was a certain degraded thrill in knowing that while Wesley couldn't justify his existence to his friends or even resist the whore of Babylon when she talked dirty to him, he could satisfy and discard said whore without blinking. And he had enjoyed it, every last bit of it, counting each orgasm, pounding her (and he couldn't use her name, her absurdly perfect name, the kind of name to be growled like a bit of protective magic, for fear it would gain power over him) into his mattress mercilessly.

Angel couldn't reduce her to this, or any of the masters of Wolfram and Hart, for that matter. Wes took pride in the part where he could, and had, until she was completely spent, the venom drawn out. She'd lost to him, and she'd lost badly, and the power was all his.

He expected she'd come round again in a day or two on some ridiculous pretext they both knew really meant she wanted to be fucked like that again, luxuriating in her own submission and his power over her. When the third day went by without Wesley speaking to another soul, he suddenly remembered her name was Lilah. And Lilah was apparently too good to return for her knickers despite the designer label, and despite how much she'd liked the sex. Wesley decided at that point that Lilah was not worth fucking again, as he was certainly not going to do something so clearly foolish as call her and cede territory. To call Lilah would be to admit...what, exactly?

Pleasure in the encounter. The desire to have any sort of human company, particularly hers. To give the predator the scent of blood in the air would be a catastrophic mistake, and thus Wesley would NOT initiate contact. Especially not for someone as pettily craven as Lilah Morgan.

On the fifth day, he decided that what was good for the goose was better for the gander, and putting on his helmet and borrowing a business associate's motorcycle, Wesley waited until Lilah emerged from the building and then discreetly tailed her to her favorite bar...a faux-classy 1950s-looking hotel bar where they served whiskey, martinis, manhattans and waited until she left, some three hours later, to enter and get a few important bits of information from the bartender.

Then Wesley had gone home, locked himself in a shower, and tried to deny that he'd memorized everything about her outfit, her car, and her demeanor that evening. He did not remember that she'd worn two-inch heels, that her skirt had been blue and slim, that she'd forgone the jacket in the June heat to show off her translucent silk shell, that he could practically imitate her walk, the sway back and forth that had attracted more than a few interested parties in the parking lot, and that despite the late hour of her departure, Lilah had gone home alone.

By the time Wesley had justified all of this to himself, he'd long since gone limp in his own hand and let his doubts wash away down the drain.

Thus on the sixth day, Wesley took his own car to the hotel bar, making sure the silver Mercedes was in the parking lot before turning off the engine, and proceeded into the building, noticing that apparently, the shower, shave, and new clothes were attractive to the female population of this particular establishment.

She was sitting alone at the bar, and because it was a Friday night, Lilah had made an attempt to dress for the occasion rather than wear her work attire. A black halter top revealed a perfect back made more perfect by posture and carriage that would make an English aristocrat weep. The hair was loosely done up, a few strands falling against the nape of her neck to emphasize the feminine curvature of her spine.

Wesley smiled. Alone again, naturally.

He sat down at the bar next to her with studious casualness, as if he didn't realize who he was sitting next to. "I'll have a gin and tonic," he told the bartender, casting his gaze casually at Lilah before looking over at a pretty redheaded girl at the other end of the bar. "Make it a double."

"Did you buy those clothes **just** for me?" Lilah asked with a vocal smirk that should have been annoying. "I like the haircut."

Wes waited a pause longer than was polite to stop looking at the redhead and directly at Lilah, who was even lovelier than she had been at the dive last week, and then at her cleavage, which he now knew intimately and still enjoyed.

"Do you, now?" he asked. "I have something of yours, Miss Morgan."

Her eyebrow arched suspiciously as the bartender returned with a gin and tonic for Wesley and a scotch (on the rocks, the barbarian) for Lilah. They both turned and smiled at the poor boy before returning to each other.

"Keep 'em," she said with an offhand wave. "They're only underwear, Wes. Easy to replace. Hardly worth paying attention to, really."

So that was how she was going to play it? He was beneath her attentions, a lowly flunky to tumble and toss aside. Wesley smiled and pulled the much-discussed garment out of his breast pocket very slowly.

"A gentleman makes every attempt to do the proper thing," he said, bringing them to his nose, the silky material millimeters from his skin. Lilah's pupils expanded, and she took the slightest hiss of air. "I should like very much to return your property to you."

Lilah smiled slowly, clearly aware that she'd broken her poker face first and left herself exposed. Then again, Wesley had sought her out and made efforts to fit into her environment doing so, so her position was still very tenable. She simply had to fend off the volley.

"Thanks but no thanks, Wes," she said, her voice rising in volume just loud enough for the bartender to hear. "I'm afraid that I just don't know where they've been and given your clear affection for them...well?"

An admirable recovery. Wesley inclined his head, tucking the panties back into his pocket and letting her have the temporary victory. "Then I suspect we're done here," he said, ready to call her bluff. He knew Lilah wanted him, that once she allowed him to win they would both find themselves satisfied, but he wouldn't allow her to simply bowl him over so casually.

"Sounds about right," Lilah said, tucking a twenty under her three-quarters-empty glass and standing up. "Though really, it's sweet of you to come up with an excuse to see me again when you knew I didn't give a damn about my underwear. Anyway, I've got places to go and people to see, so I'll be leaving now."

With a speed he didn't realize he had, Wesley's hand shot out and encircled Lilah's wrist before she could take another step. She twisted against the harsh grip, but Wes still had a bit of strength on her yet and apparently much more desperation.

"I rather think you'll be joining me for another drink, Lilah," Wesley said, unable to decide what this was: a blunder or a masterstroke -- or if he'd simply broken their little game into pieces.

"I rather think I won't," Lilah replied angrily. "If you don't let go, you're not going to like what happens next."

"Will you have me beaten up and thrown out of the bar?" Wes asked quietly, the same reckless feeling that had made fucking her so enjoyable moving through his system as he stared at her, refusing to break eye contact as he tightened his grip. "After all, I'm nothing to you. A mere stepping-stone in your evil schemes."

"That's right," she said steadily, but her body shivered a tiny bit, enough to give Wesley hope that he might win. That Lilah didn't realize how much he wanted her. "Let go now, Wesley. You shamed me once, and that never happens again."

She pulled her wrist away then, and at that moment, Wesley's body decided that it was tired of Wes and Lilah's asinine power games and betrayed him. He was half-hard at the very sight of her, resentful-eyed and rubbing her wrist before her gaze traveled toward the new crease in Wesley's trousers. And then she knew everything.

"That's **very** interesting," she said loudly, tilting her head to one side to fix the poor bartender with a look. "You know, I really am sick of this place. Apparently the bartenders can be bribed into sharing personal information about regular clientele with pathetic stalkers. I'd be furious if it weren't so...sad."

With that, Lilah turned and walked out of the bar, every last person staring at the scene the two of them caused. Wesley, for the sake of his tattered dignity, waited a full minute before he followed, catching her at the door of the hotel which housed the bar without a loss of breath.

"Let's get one thing straight," Wesley growled into Lilah's ear as he pulled both of her arms behind her back cruelly with one of his own. "I'm interested in you for one reason only, and that's to fuck you until you scream my name over and over again. I am **not** interested in working for your despicable little law firm, nor in playing house to fulfill some sort of arcane neurosis of yours. The only way I want to see you is naked in my bed, do you understand me? This is not a relationship of any sort."

"Bet you a dollar you call it that first, lover," Lilah replied hoarsely, arching against him.

"You're on," Wesley said, biting down on her earlobe just to hear her moan in anticipation. "Now, if you're a very good girl, I might wait to fuck you in the car instead of letting the entire bar watch me take you from behind on the hood of your Mercedes while you beg me not to stop."

Lilah wriggled her ass against his erection. "You wouldn't," she said, clearly trying to get some leverage as she assessed the situation. "You're British. Don't you have some sort of moral objection to public sex?"

"Not with you, my dear," Wesley replied, pushing them through the hotel door and into the cooled air of a Los Angeles summer night. "Anything that leaves you humiliated and begging for more is worth the small cost to myself."

She sagged a little at that, stumbling in their forced march across the parking lot. "Fuck. I just ruined another pair of underwear," Lilah confessed. "You're good at this."

Wesley twisted her around in his arms, catching her by the back of the neck so she couldn't get free, and starting kissing her, forcing her mouth against his, pushing it open with his tongue before Lilah responded, tangling her fingers in his hair with one hand while the other caught about his waist, grinding against his cock breathlessly until he finally pulled away.

"Very good," he managed to sneer, knowing that he wasn't going to last much longer, necessary boundaries set or not. "Untie your top."

"No," she said, spine stiffening. "Take me to the car first. I might not mind getting topped, but I'm not your whore. You want me as much as I want you and I can walk back to the bar and get something almost as good to relieve this itch."

Wes grabbed an upper arm. "Not tonight," he said, half-dragging her toward his car before slamming her against the door. "I'm not in the mood to lose another battle, Lilah, and tonight's yours already."

"This isn't a war," Lilah said, the smile on her face belying her voice. "You get off, I get off, and nobody's feelings get hurt because we don't have them. Everyone's a winner as long as you remember you're interchangeable."

With a deliberate smirk, Wesley put a hand on her hip before sliding it over the top of her thigh and then between them, where her previous assessment of ruined knickers was proved to be more than accurate.

"Do you really want someone else?" he asked gently, putting his other hand in his pocket to discreetly unlock the car with the press of a button. "Be a good girl and tell the truth."

"I..." and he pressed against the seam... "No. No no no no no. I want you."

He pinned her to the door, savagely sucking at her throat as he continued to grope at her wet trousers. "What do you want from me, Lilah?" he asked as she started to moan. "I like hearing you tell me how very badly you want."

"I need you to fuck me now," she said, trying to scratch at his back, or tug at his shirt; Wes wasn't sure which. "Please, Wes. NOW."

"If I catch you with someone else, it's done," he said, untying the halter top as he thrust against her, barely registering how it all must look to an outsider. "Do you understand me?"

"Yes, yes, yes...god, fuck me now, please," she started to babble, arching her back and wrapping herself around him. "I want you...just like last time...so fucking hard...now now now now now..."

He liked her as the demanding child, completely drowned and vulnerable from the wanting. Already gasping himself, Wes extricated himself from Lilah and opened the back door to the SUV. Before he could quite figure out how they'd manage, she'd tackled him and they barely got the door closed before Lilah tore open Wesley's brand-new shirt, sending the buttons flying.

"What about you?" she asked, straddling his lap as they pulled themselves into a sitting position.

"Me?" Wesley asked.

"You," Lilah agreed, discarding her top as Wes greedily cupped each breast, rolling the tip of each nipple between forefinger and thumb until they were hard. "You and the stalker-boy act."

"And what, exactly, do you want me to say?" Wesley asked, pressing his lips to her collarbone as she continued to move against him.

"I make you crazy," she replied, undoing his belt. "Admit it. You want me. You wanted me enough to plan this."

"I want you," he said as she pulled off his belt and cracked it before setting it aside while he found the button and side zipper on her trousers, undoing them in short order. "I want to fuck you in as many ways as we can think of as often as humanly possible. But first...right now. In the car."

"Yes," she agreed, pulling away just long enough to off the rest of her clothes while Wesley took care of his own. "Hard and fast, Wes."

He pushed into her slowly, enjoying the frustrated look on Lilah's face as she started trying to ride him hard and fast, a quick fuck to stem the lust before heading off for someone's apartment for the weekend. She had no idea, really, just how much of Wesley's pleasure was in leaving her unsettled and babbling as he worked her up to a fever pitch.

"Not. Yet," he ordered, pulling her in for another brutal kiss, thrusting up as he set the pace this time, sucking and licking his way down her jaw and neck to her shoulder. "Like that...oh, bloody fucking hell, like that...."

"Harder," she moaned, slick and hot against him, the utterly shamelessness of this creature, so fucking wicked and yet entirely irresistible in her own way. Wesley could barely remember his name, let alone hers as she wrapped her arm around his neck again, swooping in to tongue his scar as both of his hands settled on her arse, letting the pace get faster. "Oh, God....that's so fucking good, you make me so wet...God, yes, yes, yes, LIKE THAT, oh, just like that, just like...OH GOD, harder!"

Women like this weren't supposed to exist; it was like fucking a girl from a magazine but a real, vicious, and dangerous woman, not one of those bloody airbrushed slags whose turn-ons included lollipops and big cars. This was real. There was a vampire bite mark on her right breast, a freckle on her left shoulder, and nobody had ever fucked him like this, turning the inner monologue to fuck so good so bloody fucking goddamn yes faster faster....

"oh my GOD oh my GOD yes yes please yes," she chanted, her thighs gripping him tighter. "I'm gonna I'm gonna I'm gonna...."

He dragged his thumb over her clit. Once, twice, three times a screamer as she fell forward against him, calling his name and sobbing as Wesley continued to thrust, harder, harder god so fucking brilliant with her on him like this, begging him never to stop, never never never...

"My God, Lilah!" Wesley finally shouted, coming hard. A damn week's worth of pent-up frustration came hard as she came again, apparently just at the sound of him calling her name while he did it. "My...fucking...God, woman."

"I know," she sobbed into his neck, absolutely boneless as she came down from the rather absurd high, stroking his arm with long, thin fingers. "Let's not wait that long next time."

"No," Wes agreed with what might have been a laugh, awkwardly rubbing her back. "My apartment, then?"

"I think yes," Lilah said, quickly climbing off him and retrieving her clothes, pulling on her pants but ignoring the underwear. "I'll meet you there."

The words did not quite make sense in Wesley's brain, nor did the way she was half-tying on her halter top and slipping on her sandals. He knew they were supposed to, but they didn't compute. "Meet me...?"

"I have a meeting early tomorrow," she said crisply, reminding him that he was the one who'd set the boundaries of this particular game. "I need to take my car. I will meet you at your apartment, and then you can show me just how many ways you can fuck me in one night. Okay?"

Right. Of course. There were rules of engagement and the enemy was demonstrating good faith by reminding Wes of those rules during his lapse. The battle tonight had indeed been a sweeping victory for Lilah, but he could already tell the grand gestures and overconfidence would hand him the war in the end.

"Yes, of course," Wesley said, shifting uncomfortably. "Be careful."

A flash of the predator's smile on her face. So confident. So very damned. Wesley was looking forward to his apartment, suddenly, and finding underwear in awkward places for as long as he could.

"Don't worry about me, lover," she said. "I'm not the one who's going to fuck this up."

They'd see about that.


End file.
